


may the 420th be with you

by YogSoThots



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: 420, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Armchair Therapy, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Gray Jedi, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jedi, M/M, Mace Windu - Freeform, Multi, Pansexual Character, Pre-Rogue One, Qui-Gon Jinn - Freeform, Temple, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wholesome, death star politics, examining one's role in capitalism, krennic probably comes to the wrong conclusions, partyboy krennic, pre-obi-wan qui gon, reasonable mace, stoner qui gon, teacher qui gon, that bastard tarkin, the jedi hippie commune, unedited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogSoThots/pseuds/YogSoThots
Summary: the star wars universe celebrates in one-shots composed during the festivities at our place.





	1. the long day

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is a bit late but it's the start of postings for the 4/5th weekend! i have abandoned all grammatical accuracy in favour of getting the words done at all, as my MS has gotten worse and i'm still waiting to be seen. it's also worth mentioning that if you're bothered by this, you should maybe examine why. moving was exhausting but i'm finally in a place where i can rest and work on the stuff i love again. sorry for the novel up here.
> 
> i had this great idea to try to get back on the writing horse when hubs and i were celebrating 420 this year and i'm working on cleaning up the stuff i wrote to put in this file, as they all share the same theme--pot culture in the star wars universe  
> the next ones are krennic-centric, kylux, reylo (how did i write the straights?? how), and a sequel to this one, when obi-wan comes to the grove.

he’s been teaching for three years on this planet. it’s day cycles last three standard days—72 standard hours. It feels like forever.

not that that’s a bad thing to quigon, he can think of worse ways to spend forever than teaching life skills to jedi younglings. But even quigon needs his rest. He takes this day off every year, and the younglings wonder why. it’s a personal day, he says, never any more or less. And it is a deeply personal day—he’s reconnecting with the force. He wanders off into the woods surrounding the temple, bag packed anxiously in advance. he’s got the bare minimum in camping and safety gear. The green force will provide the rest. It’s never failed before. As soon as the lights from the temple’s far walls go out, he is alone but not lonely. Bioluminescent insect life hovers idly and bathes the area in a creepy dull light, but he’s more interested in the ground—there’s a worn path where’s he’s going, as he’s not the only one who uses it. He is part of a small, sacred order of jedi that has been visiting this spot for millennia, leaving stories of their lives and times with practical wisdom as well. Some of his more creative solutions had starts in this clearing. He smiles, thinking of many other years he’s made this walk. He passes groves of mushrooms, delighting in the fresh dirt and rain smell. If it had rained this recently, he could grab some creeper flower on the way out for a nice salad later. The woods were generous like that.  
By the time he got to the fire, some of the lesser orders had showed up. Supplies were counted, food was being passed around. There was always a new person or two, a few tough years saw bigger influxes. It was always the same—talking about things they frowned on in the temple’s walls, politics, chemistry, spacer news, common man’s sports. gwendolyn cthylla brought her order’s cider, it was a big hit. Quigon wondered if mace would change his mind this year—he invited him every year and every year he said “quigon you know how I feel about all this stuff but I love you so just don’t die out there okay”.  
classic mace windu.   
So they’re deep in the woods doing your typical fun things—swimming in the stream, hanging out in the cave, hunting mushrooms and edible plants—and around the fire every night, they talked about their own interests and things they’d learned in their far-off temples. This year, quigon brought news of the younglings being responsible for a garden to teach responsiblilty, sustainable practices, and life sciences. It went very well—he’d be retiring from teaching in the temples to taking on a padawan—shocking, wow—and he had no other explanation except the force would sometimes nudge but in this case it shoved. He didn’t know how he felt about having to rearrange his life like that—and his relationship had changed because of it. Such things were safe here.  
Sometimes there’s no advice. Sometimes there’s just them acknowledging that yep, that’s bad, and taking a drag or a drink. Sometimes that’s all that’s necessary.  
That was good about the kids, they said. Anytime someone could make a difference in the whole thing it was great.  
Maybe his padawan could come out here someday? Sure, sure, they said. More than a couple people had been brought by a master out here to get away from the stuffiness of the temple walls. How did they get away with all this?  
Master yoda came with the group in winter.  
quigon thought of mace again.  
Mace shook his head. “kraytshit, the both of you. Hokey religious nonsense out in the woods, dancing with the trees or whatever it is you do out there with your cult.” he threw up his hands. quigon smiled to himself, remembering.

back at the temple, mace was being mace--putting up his feet after a long day wrangling quigon's classes.  
He had the invitation, he could come any time he wanted. But nope. Someone had to keep the place together when yoda and at some time or another, the other resident masters, would wander off for a very long day in the woods.  
then again, quigon always came back refreshed--his force signature burned a bright, warm green around him. maybe mace would go next year, he thought.


	2. party whites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> orson krennic is predictably disgusting on this holiday

On this day every year orson callen krennic takes leave no matter what, and his superiors oddly tend to respect that and just let him go—and it’s always a party for twenty four standard hours until he passes out in the tub with a Corellian Firewhisky Lite and pulls himself together in time for the briefing that morning. 

Tonight, he doesn’t even change out of uniform. Between him and the supply clerk he paid, he had his dress whites and these—his “party whites”. 

Just because there was a war on didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty of living to do. Where he was going, dress whites meant he would have a choice in who he spent the night with. Every point on the gender spectrum loves a man in a fucking white cape, he reasoned. And holy shit he was right—looks great on anyone, even that blue fuck out to take his job—he wasn’t afraid to admit when a man looked amazing. Honestly you can judge a regime by the aesthetics behind the thing as far as he was concerned. This one had some true staying power—the cog on the background was striking and simple all at once, easily carved or lasercut into anything. It looked great on high-shine credit chip readers—it screamed “i am a paid and definitely not a temp employee of the singular galactic empire” and to orson krennic, that shit was like catnip. It was to a certain kind of girl and droid as well.  
but unfortunately for orson, neither of those was into to it tonight.

He struck out at the officer’s club. And the secret officer’s club. That in itself was hard to do, but he was sure it was just a more...difficult crowd tonight. he didn't think too hard about it at first. but at this point in the night it was getting a bit late and everyone else he came with was already gone. okay fine.  
It was a little anxiety-inducing. It was kind of horrible, he might actually slip up and show these people what was actually going on in his mind  
specifically the doubts he had about the ethicality of it all and just how responsible was he when it was after all just a paycheck  
but no no no banish that boring ghastly shit from the mind  
nope, there’s not a single lifeform in the galaxy that gives a shit about that  
how are sports? Have we tried that one?  
He sighed, disgusted at himself but not for the reason he should have been.

He slammed back three human fingers of dagon’s eye, the fermented caviar drink special of the mon cala bartender—tonight he’d learned all about that system—and decided to have one more go of it. he’d bought one of these extra thick cigars and had been burning it down all night, hitting a spot of extra waxy glue holding the whole thing together and not only did everything feel amazing but he was sure it had just been a tough night—there was a bit of time left before they’d get cleared out of this place. The mon cala bar was normally favoured by this kind of smoker and also people who wanted a plate of real food late—and the people in here right now had to be as weird and/or as cultured and exhausted as he was  
he considered for a second the green twilek there with four of her friends and after the preliminary “i’d let that dump me”, he didn’t have a clear plan. She was gorgeous and at this time in the night, orson was just “okay”. His confidence fatigued a little.  
Across the bar a younger man was talking to his work friends—they all wore the same thing and came in in a herd from the same change-over. he’d worked that shift some time ago himself.  
“you have to hear about this shit I read about in popular mechanics,” he says, ordering a dark beer and no water.  
“they’ve managed to make the thing a reality—the defense project? Yeah, it got greenlit.”  
orson couldn’t believe his ears.  
“holy jedi order, did you get the job”  
“fuck yes I did, i’m going to be working on it and i’m going to be the goddamn lead on the safety oversight committee”  
he was so excited to be a public servant, for a second krennic’s thick-artery heart swelled. His friends bought drinks and toasted. This would mean no more roommates, more plants, better food. At least that was the motivating factors when krennic took his breakthrough job. Good for him, krennic thought, and then almost spit an olive across the room when he realized that was his project.  
he had to have a palette cleanser after that--whatever it was it was it had to be fruity and painkilling.

for the first time in a long time, this terrible bastard felt himself blush.

he turned, hoping not very suspiciously. he'd forgotten entirely about that girl.  
oh shit, he thought. oh shit. that is one of my new many underlings.  
at the same time, i love how he talks about my project  
orson began doodling on a napkin and contemplating his approach.  
he'd wait until the friends left, and definitely not introduce himself because he probably knows exactly who that is even if he doesn't know what i look like and where we are, he thought. no, definitely wait until the last possible minute to reveal, avoiding if at all possible. discretion is best.  
he sipped the fruity thing and pushed the little umbrella aside.  
yes, he thought. my liver may think i'm an alcoholic but in my mind and heart i am a scientist.

after about thirty minutes and three umbrellafruits later, the guy's friends had departed for another bar or the dancefloor and he was very decidedly alone. since this was that kind of bar, orson slipped a gold credit to one of the other bartenders to sell him the greenleaf equivalent of a dozen roses. it was a ridiculous thing with roses and honey and jasmine all smooshed together in lacy-looking paper. he wasn't sure who to be embarrassed for, the guy he was about to hand this to or the one that invented it (this was almost certainly a human male invention)--it was absurdly decadent even for his taste. honey from a predatory large wasp that only lives on dagobah. paper from dantooian pulp. tea leaves from the same. all florals clipped from the queen of naboo's private garden in a ceremony that happens just once a standard year. it might have cost half a week's pay but fuck it, for once in his life he had everything covered early and could be a little bit stupid.

when he got to the table, he could have sworn he saw something flash across the other man's face, but he wouldn't be able to place it until later.

he thought he saw it again helping him into the transport on the way back to his place--he'd already had a bag ready.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

the smell of cooking eggs wafted up to the bedroom from the kitchen in the imperial living quarters with the nicest view. the pink sun of this station cast everyone in their best light all the time and orson was living for it. his sheets were pastel pink and so were his walls. he groped around on the nightstand for the cigar from last night, knocking the smoke and emission detector on the floor. why was this here  
it took him a minute to put it together but 

orson and kelsen p. julian/25/arkanis were surprisingly restrained on the transport back considering they were both at the same place looking for the same thing. orson only gave his first name, and kelsen didn't pry but definitely had some secrets himself, it all felt incredibly clandestine and he loved it.  
once they were in the safety of orson's quarters, they'd accidentally knocked off his kyber ashtray while railing kelsen's secret stash of nerve pills off the desk and knocked down a nice lamp trying to get to his bedroom. he'd never understood how in the holodramas they always destroyed rooms having great sex but after this? finally figured it out.  
afterwards they talked shop--all the revolutionary discoveries, all the universal protection, all our sacrifices would make this project worth it.  
his smile fell when he realized how naive and stupid it all had sounded in the harsh light of day.  
once again ethical questions pestered him. once again he crushed them tight into a little diamond that he held tight in his chest and only let out once a month in therapy. orson needed chemical intervention before he thought too hard again.  
they'd unplugged and deactivated the smoke and emission detector when kelsen brandished two more of the stupid hipster floral cigars  
orson smiled again thinking of what all happened next.

that's what happened, right. he'd have to get it inspected and pay off the inspector to keep from this particular story from getting out but it was fucking worth it. orson joined him for breakfast and connected some dots he hadn't wanted to think about too hard last night.  
"what's up? you're looking like you're having some regrets today"  
he seemed really comfortable with everything so far. including cooking his superiors' boss fried eggs.  
"you knew who i was, didn't you?"  
"oh yeah, no, i knew. everybody in the fleet knows who you are. that was part of why i did it."  
"yeah? what was the rest?" orson could kind of respect a fellow conqueror.  
"i mean have you seen you in a cape?"  
they cracked up. it was hard not to. everything was easier after that. there wasn't time to wash up, just enough to find the missing uniform parts scattered on the floor. they'd probably be fine, he was surprised to have found all the parts this year. they awkwardly shook hands and kissed before opening the door to the rest of the compound.  
they went different directions--maybe they'd see each other again, maybe not, but either way everything hurt and he had a fucking great holiday and everything went as planned.

of course the briefing didn't go as planned.  
tarkin fucking railroaded the meeting again and it was infuriating, but anything bad was negated by the look on tarkin's face when he had to sit close enough to krennic to notice he forgot to change out his dress whites last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, i headcanon krennic as one of those Worst Guys but this was still a morbid kind of fun.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know how things are going, i really need to know what i'm doing both excellent and awful at, this is a weird time in my writing career--getting worse(tm)--but i've got to figure out how to get through it.  
> thanks <3  
> j


End file.
